Tears of Tithonus
by mkaz
Summary: A disturbingly vivid dream brings Claire and Gabriel to Florida.  A part of the Thin Line series.
1. Chapter 1

"So why did you do it?" he asks me.

I look up at Lieutenant Briggs, a dark-skinned man who's bald on top and sporting a formidable moustache, and I can't help but chuckle. He probably thinks he's tough, world-weary. He's but a child in the face of the things I've done and seen.

He ignores my chuckle and repeats the question, more forcefully, in the attempt to intimidate me. I take a long drag on my cigarette and sit back in my chair.

Finally, I speak. "Lieutenant, have you ever been in love?" I ask him. I know he's tempted to tell me that I'm not in the place to ask questions, that I'd better answer his first and foremost. But, I've been so reticent all this time, he's grateful for any response from me and decides to oblige.

He gives just the faintest hint of a smile and answers, "I've been married eighteen years now."

"That's no answer," I counter. "Marriage and love are two very different things. One is a matter of politics and law. The other is an irresistible force. You may be married to your wife, but do you love her?"

He cocks an eyebrow and wishes to himself that someone else could have interrogated me. But he acquiesces and replies, "I wouldn't have married her if I didn't."

"So, in loving her, you'd do anything for her?"

He shrugs. "Yes, I believe I would."

I lean forward slightly, smiling. "So, you would kill for her?"

He shifts uncomfortably. He doesn't like this conversation, and he feels he's losing control. I let him off the hook by saying, "I know, certain circumstances, you would. If it went against your morals, you wouldn't."

I take another drag from my cigarette, and put it out. "But, if it meant saving your wife's life, if it meant alleviating her suffering and adding years, happy, fulfilling years, to her life, would you do it then?"

He considered it for a while, then said, "Yes, I believe I would."

I smiled and sat back in my chair. "Well, then, detective, there's the answer to your question. I'm sorry if I took the roundabout way to getting to it, but I hoped it would help you with establishing motive."

"That's very generous of you," he said with a certain measure of sarcasm. "And in an isolated incident, I might sympathize with you. But from the research I've done on you, you may be guilty of more than one murder. Do you mean to tell me every crime you've committed has been for love?"

I looked up to the ceiling, considering my reply. "No, I can't say that. I've killed several times for my own personal gain. But that was my past. Now, I only kill to protect the one I love."

He sighed. I'm sure he was hoping that he'd break me early, but now he knew that wasn't going to happen. "Why don't you start from the beginning? I'm all ears."

I smiled, and reached for another cigarette. "This—this here—it's such a nasty habit," I told him, placing the paper tube in my mouth and lighting the end. "You know, there was a time in my life I'd never think of smoking. Always considered it…below me. But now…well, it seems to be the only thing that calms my nerves."

He just stared at me. "From the beginning," he repeated pointedly.

I blew the smoke from my lungs and smiled. "Very well. Make yourself comfortable, Lieutenant. It's quite a long story."


	2. Chapter 2

_Two months earlier…_

She was at a nightclub somewhere. She was sure of it. The bodies swaying to the high-decibel dance music filled the space around her. There was a lack of light, with the exception of neon strobes falling upon them. She felt confined, restricted. She needed to get out of there. She needed to breathe.

When she finally did find a door and exited the club, she found the temperature wasn't much cooler outside than it had been in. It was a hot, sticky night. She put her hand to her forehead and wiped the sweat off. She looked down at herself, and was relieved to find she was wearing a light green summer dress—as appropriate to the weather as she could get.

She longed for a glass of ice water and the chance to shower, but she had no idea which way to go. And in her pondering, she realized that she was being watched.

She wasn't sure who it was, or where they were, but she felt a pair of eyes on her as surely as if the person were standing right in front of her. Feeling an unseasonable chill go down her spine, she turned and started walking down the street.

The street was crowded, which relieved her, because she didn't want to be walking these streets by herself. She just wanted to get where she was going and get off of them. When she reached the end of the street, she realized it was a dead end. She looked up and saw two unusually conspicuous buildings: one lemon yellow Victorian-style mansion, and a red-brick factory called Domingo's.

A dark shadow moved over her. Feeling fear surge in her blood, she shuddered and began to walk again, disregarding where it was she went. The streets were deserted all of a sudden, and she was alone. Looking behind her, she spied a dark cloaked figure, only a few yards away. She yelped and began to run. The streetlights, at first so bright, were now dimming to barely a spark, and the moon hid her face behind the dusky mass of clouds. As a result, she could hardly see in front of her.

Eventually, she stopped running, stopped moving, because she knew that her stalker could see her. She pressed herself against a brick wall, panting in fear. She felt like a mouse trapped in a corner by a snake.

Then, the inevitable. A cold, claw-like hand grabbed hold of one of her arms, then the other. She screamed and struggled, but she was eventually wrestled to the ground and pinned there. Whatever was holding her down was so strong she couldn't even squirm beneath it.

She suddenly felt like she was being drained. She couldn't breathe, and the terror of feeling herself having the life sucked out of her was even more petrifying than being in the dark and held down. She was going to die; she knew it. She tried to take a breath to scream, but she couldn't even do that. Her very soul was leaving her…

Claire's eyes flashed open, and she sat up. She gasped, trying desperately to get her heart to stop slamming itself in her chest. She looked at her arms, and realized she was shaking, all over. It had been a dream. But it was such a vivid dream! She remembered the terror of feeling like she was going to die.

Claire lay back down in bed, her arm brushing against something. It was Gabriel, lying on his back, still fast asleep. She momentarily had been surprised that her thrashing hadn't awakened him, but something she had learned from the past few weeks of sharing a bed with him was that he was a very sound sleeper. That, and that he always slept on his back, no exceptions. So when she felt like she couldn't stay in bed anymore, she wasn't surprised that he didn't even turn.

She walked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing some cold water on her face. She seemed to have calmed down physically—her heart was back to a normal rate and her jitters had faded—but that dream was still on her mind. She began to wonder if its realistic feel was a sign to her that there was a new case for her and Gabriel to solve. Then again, it might just be a dream; after all, Claire didn't have any powers of premonition like Gabriel did. She lived a high-tension, low relaxation sort of lifestyle. It would make sense that her dreams would reflect her mental stress.

When she went back to the bed, the clock on the night table read six. It wouldn't be too long before Gabriel would be up, but it was still a long time to lay in bed, wide awake. She knew there was a small grocery not too far from the hotel that opened early; maybe she'd go there and get something to eat.

So she showered and dressed, and when she was about to leave, she saw that Gabriel was still asleep. Smiling, she leaned over and kissed him. Usually, kissing was the only way to wake him up, short of shaking him.

But he still refused to open his eyes. "Mmm," he mumbled.

"I'm going to get breakfast," she told him softly.

"Mm hm," he replied. He was still asleep. At least she could say she told him, even if he wasn't fully conscious.

She walked over to the grocery store and bought two cups of fruit, a package of pastries, and two bottles of iced coffee. While she was standing in line to pay, she noticed the man in front of her was turned to the entertainment page of the national newspaper. The picture in the upper right hand corner kept her attention and made a chill go down her spine. It looked like the building in her dream; the lemon yellow Victorian style house.

Claire narrowed her eyes and tried to read the article, but she could only make out the headline. She wished Gabriel was with her; his vision was much better. She was so busy trying to read the article that before she knew it, she was next in line to check out.

"Is this everything, miss?" the elderly clerk asked her.

"Oh, yes. Um, well, also, if you have another issue of that newspaper the gentleman in front of me was reading, I'll take that too," Claire replied.

"_The Atlanta Daily_? Yeah, I think I can do that." The clerk reached behind him and picked up a copy of the newspaper that had been lying behind him.

Claire thanked him and paid for her items, then began to walk back to the hotel. While walking, she opened the paper and began to look for the article. She was halfway through the paper when she found it. She stopped walking and leaned against a lamppost to read:

_New Orleans Entrepreneur Opens Bar with a Refreshing Twist_

_By Tim Black_

_Tallahassee, Fla. – Malcolm Everett doesn't let things stand in his way, not even hurricanes. _

_The 25 year-old entrepreneur, who formerly owned The White Rose dance club and Bonjourno's restaurant in New Orleans, has decided to restore a Victorian Mansion and convert it into Tallahassee's hottest bar and grill. With three floors, winding staircases, a ballroom, and an extensive balcony for private parties, Everett's new venture promises to give an elegant feel to the club-going experience. Everett moved to Florida after hurricane Katrina swept through and destroyed both buildings. He's spent the last two years refurbishing the 100 year old house. _

"_Malcolm's not the type to let setbacks deter him, even acts of God," commented Margaret Winstead, Everett's business partner. "Juneberry Manor is going to be a new type of social scene, one that appeals to the aesthetic sensibilities of its clientele. We went our customers to walk in feeling like they've visited old friends in the country."_

_Juneberry Manor opens this Saturday to the public. Reservations are not required, but are recommended._

Claire walked back to the hotel as fast as she could. When she got there, she found Gabriel was just walking out of the bathroom, now fully awake and buttoning his shirt.

"There you are," he said. "I was just about to go look for you. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I did," Claire argued, putting the food on the hotel table. "I told you I was getting breakfast. You said 'mm hm.'"

He frowned. "You know I didn't hear you."

"And you know you could sleep through a train running through the room," Claire quipped, handing him a Danish and one of the bottles of iced coffee. "Here. Have some breakfast. I need to tell you something."

Gabriel sipped some of the coffee and looked at her with dread. "What's wrong?"

She sat down next to him on the bed. "I had a dream last night. A nightmare, actually. I dreamt I was having the life sucked out of me by some shadowy freak with really cold hands. It was so real! Well, I went out this morning to get breakfast, and one of the newspapers had an article about one of the buildings I saw in my dream. This is more than just a coincidence. I think we should go to Florida and find out what's going on."

"And so you think this dream you had, is like my paintings? Like precognition?"

She shrugged. "I've never had dreams like these before. But I know something is wrong."

He nodded and bit into his pastry. "If it'll make you feel better, Chief, we'll go."

She sighed and got off of the bed, crossing her arms. There was something else bothering her, but she didn't know how to bring it up. They were running out of money; she knew they probably had enough for the trip to Tallahassee, but after that…she didn't know. Claire knew that if she told Gabriel, he would suggest calling Mr. Nakamura. She had been avoiding thinking of the Japanese businessman; she was ashamed of the things she had said to him the last time they met. She felt like she had let him down, and she dreaded the thought of asking for money.

She didn't know if Gabriel could tell something was wrong, but she decided then that she wouldn't tell him unless she absolutely had to. There was something that she realized about him that she'd never change; he didn't feel like they were subject to the same responsibilities as other people. He believed in evolution, that he and Claire were of a higher order and therefore did not need to cater to the demands of "inferiors." Granted, he'd been cured of his craving for powers; his morality had been restored. But she knew he felt that what he now no longer would do—killing off the weak, that is—would eventually be done by time. So financial concerns would not concern Gabriel.

He walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "That dream really bothered you, didn't it?" he asked, kissing her cheek.

Claire turned around and put on her best smile. "Never felt anything like that before. I—I just hope that we're not too late."

He drew her to him. "We'll leave today," he promised. "We'll figure it out."

They started on their trip from Georgia to Florida, taking only five hours to get there. When they did, they tried to learn everything they could about Juneberry Manor: what sort of things they served, dress code, when they were open. The people they talked to seemed excited about the grand opening, but did not express great hope that it would be a lasting addition to the commercial center in which it stood.

They learned even less about Malcolm Everett. All the research they did pointed back to what Claire already knew: that he owned a restaurant and bar in New Orleans, and they were destroyed in the devastation of hurricane Katrina. He was originally from New Jersey, and went to Dartmouth college. Nothing else gave them any clues.

"Don't worry about it, Chief," Gabriel told her. "The important stuff we'll learn for ourselves. That's the way it always goes."

Claire couldn't help but agree with his logic; it both comforted and unnerved her. And she'd already been given a clue. Her dream had pointed her in the right direction. She just hoped it was a warning and not an inflexible prophecy.

The day before the opening of Juneberry, Claire took it upon herself to go shopping for both of them. Their wardrobe was less than fashionable; most of the clothes they had were what they'd bought when they first started traveling together, and a good deal of Claire's attire had been burned, melted, torn, or otherwise rendered un-wearable by the abuse she'd taken in the line of duty.

Despite the fact that this would take a toll on their dwindling resources, she decided to shop the boutiques for clothes. She figured she could write it off as a business necessity.

On Saturday night, they were getting ready for their stakeout. Claire took a sharp pin and, gritting her teeth, ran her earlobes through. She grimaced as she pulled the pin out and quickly inserted her earrings into the newly made holes. One of the more annoying features of her powers; her ear piercings would disappear. So each time she wanted to wear earrings, she'd have to provide the holes.

She sprayed perfume on her neck and ears and stepped back to take herself in. She tried not to be vain, but she had to admit, she looked fantastic. She was wearing a dark purple velvet sleeveless dress that was curve-hugging and came to the knee, and black suede stilettos. She wore her hair down, and curled the ends to give it more body. She looked great, but she still looked young. It was one of the disadvantages of being with an older man; you always felt like you had to prove yourself.

After adding the finishing touch of a silver necklace, Claire called out, "What's taking so long? Come on out so I can see you!"

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, and Claire gave a wolf-whistle. The man could be ruthless, but he could also be suave. The black suit with the maroon dress shirt she'd bought was him to a "T." She was only disappointed that he'd cut his hair. She'd argued with him about it, saying that she liked his hair longer. But Gabriel countered that he was a clean cut guy his entire life, and that the only reason why his hair had been long was because of the coma he was in. He had agreed, much to her delight, to keep the beard. He trimmed it down neatly into more of a goatee style that she found irresistible.

"Rrrrrowww," Claire growled, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"What?" Gabriel asked innocently. It was one of the things that surprised Claire about him. He could be vain about a lot of things—his intellect, his aesthetic tastes, his superhuman abilities—but when it came to his looks, he could never muster a boast or brag. He was gorgeous and either didn't know or didn't care.

She sighed. "You look great, that's all."

"Well. Thanks."

A few seconds of silence passed. Claire looked up at him, expectantly.

"Well?" she finally asked.

"Well…what?"

She groaned and let go of him. "Nothing. Let's just go." The man couldn't give a compliment to save his life.

Juneberry Manor, while accommodating an impressive patronage, wasn't as outrageously overpopulated as Claire had expected. She and Gabriel were able to get in and be seated rather quickly. Prior to being seated, they wandered about the mansion for a while. The top floor housed one of the bars and lounges—one large room where guests could get a drink and have a view of the city. The ground floor was the restaurant/grill, where meals were served and guests could hear live music. The bottom floor was another bar with a dance floor. All over, though, you had the feeling you were in a 19th century home, with the hardwood floors, mahogany furniture, and double shuttered glass windows.

In spite of the terrors of her premonition, Claire liked Juneberry. While they were waiting for their meals she looked around in awe. Finally she looked at Gabriel, who seemed preoccupied with his drink.

"Isn't this cool?" she asked.

He looked up at her and smiled half-heartedly. "It's nice," he replied.

She frowned. "You don't like it here?"

"It's not really my thing. I'm not much for going out, being around crowds."

Claire sat back in her chair. She should have known. Gabriel was always a loner, always the guy hanging back in the darkness instead of in the spotlight. Had they gone to school together, she'd be Homecoming Queen (and she had been) and he'd be the poindexter who forfeited all of the parties and events to study hard for the test the next day. She couldn't begrudge him for that; it was just who he was.

Just then, a slim, blonde, good-looking man went up to the stage in the very back of the room and tapped the microphone. "How is everyone tonight?" he boomed. Everyone cheered in reply. "I'm glad to feel all this excitement! Welcome to Juneberry Manor, where we try to give you a twenty-first century good time in nineteenth-century luxury. We'd like to start the night with some music, and so everyone put your hands together--" but then he was interrupted by an older woman, who, as discreetly as she could, went up to the man and whispered in his ear.

The MC thanked her and looked back at his audience, now feeling genuine anxiety. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, there's been a bit of a change in plans. Our band is running late, so we're going to have to put off music for tonight. We apologize."

There were groans and complaints from the audience. People felt they were being cheated after having to pay a cover charge and the price for food and drinks and no entertainment. Claire looked sadly at the stage and saw that there was a piano there. She then got a crazy idea; did she have the courage to pull it off? But when was courage ever an issue for her? After all the things she'd done—running into burning buildings, tackling armed robbers, walking through puddles of acid, shooting herself in the head—the thing she was thinking of doing should be nothing. The sounds of discontent from her fellow patrons and the people actually leaving their seats finally gave her resolve.

She stood up from her chair, and, not bothering to tell Gabriel where she was going, she boldly walked up to the stage and sat down at the piano, hoping that the microphone sitting nearby would pick up her voice. She took a deep breath, and put her fingers to the keys, playing the introduction to the song she was thinking of. When she was done with the intro, she took another brave breath and began to sing "At Last," the song her parents had danced to on their wedding day and played every year on their anniversary.

She smiled her most enchanting smile and tried to make eye contact with the audience while simultaneously suppressing the fear that the restaurant's management would drag her off the stage. However, she made it through the entire song, and ended with a flourish on the piano. She stood up and took a small bow, hoping she had sounded all right. Truthfully, she had been so preoccupied with what she was doing she hadn't even bothered to hear herself.

But as she was trying to quickly leave the stage, there was a thunder of applause from the patrons, who started yelling out "Encore! Encore!" But she just smiled and blushed and tried to make it to her seat as quickly as possible.

By the time she made it back, the MC managed to get the sound system set up, and was now playing recorded music. She sat down at her table to find Gabriel grinning at her.

"Did I sound all right? I couldn't really tell," she told him.

"I had no idea you could sing like that. Or play the piano!"

She blushed. "I took piano lessons until I was 14. I sort of gave it up in high school because I didn't think it was cool."

Gabriel chuckled. "Well, gosh, Chief, I've developed a whole new respect for you!"

Claire frowned. She wasn't sure if that was supposed to be an insult or not.

She didn't get the chance to ask him because just then, the older woman she'd seen on stage came walking up to their table with one of the hottest guys she'd ever seen. He was about Gabriel's height, but more muscular and framed nicely by the expensive tailored suit he wore. Curly brown hair just reached his jaw, while his green eyes flashed with intensity and were set off by his caramel-colored flawless skin. She stood up as they approached.

"That was quite a performance, Miss," the man said to her.

She smiled and felt her face get warm for the third time that night. "Well, thank you. I'm sorry that I just intruded and did that, but--"

He held up his hand. "Please, please, don't apologize! You saved our necks, that's what you did. Half our customers were about to leave, but you reeled them back in with your lovely voice and your talent on the piano. I just wanted to come by personally and thank you."

Claire's eyes widened. "You—you're Malcolm Everett?"

He seemed a little surprised that she knew his name, but he smiled and nodded. "Yes. And this is my business partner, Margaret Winstead. We both wanted to thank you…and to ask if you would like to make this a repeat performance. On a regular basis, I mean."

Claire gave a little gasp. "Are you—are you offering me a job?"

"It would only be a few hours a week," Margaret Winstead interjected. "But we like to showcase…an eclectic gathering of talent. We have a jazz band, a string quartet, a male country singer, and now we'd like to add a girl singer who plays piano."

Malcolm turned to Claire and smiled that dazzling smile of his. "Well? What do you say, Miss…?"

"Bennet. Claire Bennet," she piped up, giving him her hand. "And I'd love to."

Just then, she felt Gabriel's hand on her arm. She'd forgotten he was there, actually. "Claire? Don't you think we should talk this over? We're not going to be here for very long."

"Oh, take your time. Here's Margaret's card," Malcolm told her, giving her the small square of bonded paper. "When you come to a decision, let me know!" He flashed her another debonair smile, which Claire returned, and walked away. Margaret gave her a brief look, then followed her partner.

Claire and Gabriel finished their dinner in silence, then promptly returned to their hotel room. She knew he was upset. And while she didn't really want to argue with him, she was determined to have her way.

Gabriel took off his jacket and threw it on the bed. "You're not taking that job," he told her flatly.

"Says who?" Claire demanded, indignant. She couldn't believe it. Who was he to tell her what she could and could not do?

"I say so. I'm the older, rational one of this group, and I'm saying that there's no logical reason why you should."

Claire scowled and sat down on the bed in a huff. "I know something is going on around Juneberry, and if I'm working there, I'll be close enough to investigate."

Gabriel walked to the other side of the bed, his hands on his hips. "How are you going to be doing any investigating while you're singing on stage for a bunch of drunk, rowdy idiots?"

Claire stared at him in anger. "What? Did you see the people who were there? This is an upscale bar, not some backwoods redneck watering hole!"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You're too young. What the hell was that guy thinking, coming up to you like that? Talking to you like you can be bought and sold."

Claire smirked. "I'm not too young for _you_," she said wryly.

He glared at her. "Don't skew the issue," he snapped. "If you take this job, your judgment will be compromised. It's best to maintain a distance."

She sighed and got off the bed, pacing restlessly. "It's not a question of me fulfilling some sort of little-girl fantasy of being famous," she argued. "We…oh," she said, running her hands through her hair, "we need the money."

Gabriel cocked his brow. "What do you mean, we need the money?"

Claire crossed her arms and looked at him in frustration. "I shouldn't have to explain this to you. We need money to live on. You may think that all your powers make you unstoppable, unbeatable, but it costs money to eat, money for these hotel rooms, money for the gas we put in the car. Until you no longer need to eat and sleep and you can run continuously at 80 miles per hour, we need money."

He scoffed. "Just ask Nakamura. He's funding this little adventure of ours."

Claire shook her head. "I'm not asking him for money. He gave us the means to start this, but, it's our job to make our own way."

"And this is what you call 'making our way'? Becoming a pretty toy for some hot shot bar owner?"

Claire smiled. He felt threatened by the handsome bar owner, but was trying not to show it. "You'll come see me every night I sing. And when I'm not singing, we'll be trying to figure out what heinous force we're contending with. Come on. Sit down, sit down."

Gabriel sighed and complied. Once he was seated, she came and stood between his knees and wrapped her arms around his neck. "That dream I had—it was more than just a dream. And I don't think it's a coincidence that Malcolm Everett offered me a job at the very place I saw in my dream. I'm meant to be there." She leaned forward and kissed him, briefly. "You can watch me. You can protect me. But, more important, you need to trust me."

Gabriel took her face in his hands and returned her kiss with passion. "I do trust you. But if that guy tries anything—anything at all, I'll kill him."

Claire stroked his neck and chuckled. "I know."

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

"So when Miss Bennet met Mr. Everett, you were jealous?" he asks me.

I have just put out what has probably been my thirtieth cigarette that night and I smile bitterly. "You're quite intuitive, Lieutenant. But can you blame me? Claire's a beautiful girl. Malcolm is a handsome man. It's…understandable that there would be chemistry between them."

"Well, if you were as much in love as you claim, why didn't you put a stop to it?"

"It wasn't for a lack of trying I assure you," I told him. Instinctively I pick up another cigarette and light it, feeling my nerves instantly settle. I didn't like talking about the night that was the beginning of the end for me. But, I'm a prisoner for now, forced to answer any and all questions shot at me by all manner of lower life forms.

Briggs settles back in his chair and just looks at me. I think he's actually starting to feel sorry for me. I suppose I should feel grateful. I suppose I should take advantage of this blossoming sort of feeling. But that won't happen. I'm a superior being and I won't lower myself in any way.

He sighs and looks through his notes. "So…Miss Bennet began working for Mr. Everett the day after they met. Was she…good?"

I take a drag and nod, reluctantly. "I didn't want her there. And I kept my eye on her. But she does have a lovely voice, and she brought business to the bar."

"And when did Mr. Everett first make his move on her?"

I blow the smoke from my lungs furiously. "He didn't make any moves on her. I had the upper hand the entire time. Nothing—absolutely nothing—that happened, beginning to end, eluded me. One thing you learn when you've been doing what I've done as long as I have, Lieutenant, is to always stay in control, even when it seems as if you're giving in."

He puts his hands up. "All right, all right. When was it that…it _appeared _Mr. Everett was making a move on her?"

I shrug. "The very same night she started singing. I knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fine with me."

He seems surprised by my remark. "Oh was it?"

I took a final puff of the cigarette and put it out. "Like I said, it's all part of a greater plan. You let…the little things slide off your back. That's why I've survived all this time."

He smirks, the fool. "But you've been caught now."

I smile. "That's what you think, Lieutenant. Before the night is over, I'll be walking out of here, and if you try to get in my way, you'll be dead."


	3. Chapter 3

One ring. Two rings. On the third, there was an answer.

"Margaret Winstead."

"Ms. Winstead? Hi, this is Claire Bennet! I was at the club last—"

"Yes, I remember, Claire. Please call me Margaret. I take it if you're calling, you've decided to take Malcolm's offer?"

"Uh, yes I have. The only thing is, I'm not sure how long I'll be in the area—"

"That's quite all right. You'll be paid per appearance. When you've decided you've had enough, you just let us know."

"Great! So when do I need to be there next?"

"We have an hour of unplanned time on Tuesday night. If you want to come in today and practice, that's fine."

"I can do that. Thank you, Margaret."

"Thank _you_, Claire." With that, she hung up.

Gabriel insisted on coming with her to Juneberry, which Claire couldn't really argue with; it was part of their compromise, after all. The restaurant/bar was empty and closed to the public, but fortunately Margaret was outside when they arrived, and let them in.

Ignoring Gabriel, Margaret put an arm around Claire's shoulders and walked her through the bar, introducing her to "the gang." She first took her backstage, behind the restaurant area. They walked up to the blond-haired man who Claire had first seen on stage.

"This is our M.C., Dorian. I'm sure you remember him from the other night," Margaret told her.

Dorian took her hand smiled. He was almost as good looking as Malcolm. "Hi, Claire. Thanks for saving us the other night. You were quite the act."

"That's why she's here," Margaret answered for Claire, then walked her on to the others.

The next group Claire met were some of the service staff: Mindy, a waitress not too much older than her with bright red hair and freckles; John, one of the hosts who looked to be about Gabriel's age with a shaved head and moustache; Louise, an older woman who was their sous-chef; and Dani, a girl younger than Claire with jet-black hair and a nose ring who did bussing and running. They all were pleasant, but not nearly as enthusiastic as Margaret, even put together. After introducing each one of them to Claire, she hugged them to her and told Claire that they were all part of the "Juneberry family."

Margaret then walked Claire to the stage, Gabriel still in tow and for the most part neglected, and told her she could start practicing.

"Do you need anything, hon?" the older woman asked.

Claire smiled and shook her head. "What you had last night was fine. Most of the songs I'd perform I know the music to by heart. I just need some practice."

Margaret smiled back. "Good. Well, I'll let you get to it then." With that, she left.

Claire stretched her hands and fingers, then started playing a few exercises from her days of piano lessons to warm up.

She was in her third round of exercises when she saw Gabriel standing over her. She stopped and looked at him.

"I'm going to look around. I'll be back soon," he told her.

She smiled. "Good. See you then," she replied, and turned back to the piano.

Even being engrossed in her playing, Claire couldn't help but notice how stiffly Gabriel walked away. She was sure he felt somewhat out of place; all of their previous work had involved both of them. Now, the attention was solely on her.

She let Gabriel fade out of her mind, and soon found herself thinking of Malcolm Everett. He hadn't appeared while she was there; then again, he was the owner. He didn't have to be there if he didn't want to be. That's why he had Margaret to run everything for him. He was a handsome man. Charming too, and successful. He was the type of guy Claire and her friends used to dream about finding after they were done with school. Claire supposed that his type wasn't her type anymore; Malcolm Everett was nothing like Gabriel Gray, for example. Malcolm was deeply concerned with making connections and material possessions. Gabriel wanted only to secure the kind of power that money couldn't buy. Which type of man was more ruthless? Claire couldn't say.

She was now into the second verse of "I'll Stand By You," playing the song while softly singing along, when she felt that feeling she'd had in her dream: that someone was watching her. She took her fingers off the keys quickly, bringing the song she'd been playing to an abrupt halt.

She looked around her frantically, seeing no one on stage, around the tables that made up the audience, or on the sides. Then slowly, fearfully, she turned around on the piano bench and looked behind her.

She gasped and almost jumped. Several yards away, by the exit, there was an old man staring at her. He had his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. His eyes seemed nearly colorless, but they were ferocious, seeming to burn into her, searing her soul.

Claire couldn't move. She wanted to jump up, to run away, to scream. But she couldn't. She was petrified by her fear—or, perhaps, by some force he was exerting on her.

Their eyes were locked for nearly a minute, and for Claire it was an agonizing eternity. Then, he moved his eyes away and walked out of the room.

Even though he was gone, Claire still couldn't move. She stared into space for a while, her mind blank. It was as if he had taken all the sense from her.

Suddenly there were two coal-black eyes staring right into hers. She yelped and jumped back.

His hands grabbed her arms. "Chief, it's ok. It's me. What happened?"

Claire panted. "I saw someone," she said softly.

Gabriel stood up and looked around. "There's no one here."

"No. Before." Claire closed her eyes tight. "He stared right into me. He's the one who gave me that dream. I'm sure of it!"

Gabriel knelt down again in front of her. "Do you want to try to track him down?"

Claire thought for a moment, then looked around. "No. No, I need to practice." She turned around in her seat and put her fingers to the keys, playing "I'll Stand by You" once again from the beginning. Halfway through the song, Gabriel came and sat next to her, and remained there with her until she felt she had practiced enough.

Tuesday night she was nervous, but not because she was going to sing for a packed room of strangers. She was nervous because she knew that man was going to be there. She didn't know who he was, or what he wanted, but she knew that he was the reason they were there, in Florida.

This time she wore an airy white linen suit with her black stilettos and chunky black beads as an accessory. She hoped that it would look stylish, yet professional. It seemed to do the trick, as Claire couldn't help but notice the stares she got from the men on the street as they were walking to the club from the parking garage. Gabriel seemed to notice it too, because he clasped her elbow and walked closely to her, as if to make it unmistakable that they were together.

They arrived, and Mindy, one of the waitresses she'd met earlier, showed Gabriel to a table near the stage so he'd have a good view. Claire went backstage and waited to be announced.

She stood there, feeling her heart pound, her breathing short and shallow. Then she felt a hand suddenly grab her shoulder.

She screamed and jumped back, then sighed in relief. "Oh! Margaret!" was all she could manage to say.

The businesswoman cocked an eyebrow. "Are you all right dear? You really have nothing to worry about. You did a lovely job the other night."

Claire managed a timid smile. "Yes, I know I don't need to worry. Thank you."

"Margaret, we're almost ready," a voice said behind them. They turned around and Claire thought her heart stopped beating. It was the man she'd seen the other day, the one whose icy stare had paralyzed her.

But Margaret smiled at him and said, "Wonderful. Thank you." Then, turning back to see Claire's frightened and confused face, she added, "Claire, this is Carlisle Janney. He's in charge of our sound system."

The old man nodded briefly, then walked away. Claire could only stare dumbly. Margaret stared at her.

"Are you all right honey?"

Claire shook it off and looked at Margaret. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I'm ready."

"Good. Dorian's going to announce you in just a few minutes."

Claire heard her name announced, then walked onto the stage as if in a trance. She sat down to the piano and played the introduction mechanically, then started in singing the song as if she was on auto-pilot. She knew the song she sang by heart, and she'd performed it several times before for her family and their friends.

She finally awoke from her trance when she finished the song and heard the applause. She didn't know how she had sounded; she had felt so removed from everything she hadn't heard herself. Once she finished her first song, she moved on to perform several others that her piano teacher had taught her, older songs that most of the senior patrons would know and that younger patrons would recognize.

When she finished her fifth song, she had reached her agreed limit for the night, and she got up and took a bow. Her head feeling cold and light, she walked off of the stage and to the back area.

The hallway was empty and bright, most of the activity being in the kitchen areas and in the restaurant and bar. Finding a chair, Claire sat down and closed her eyes, her mind only faintly alighting on her performance. She was thinking of that man…Carlisle. Somehow, he'd sent her that dream. But why? Didn't he know if he did, she'd find him and try to stop him? What did he want from her? Was he like Gabriel—the way Gabriel had been before, that is?

Her reverie was broken by a voice: "Can I get you something to drink?"

She opened her eyes. It was Mindy, the red-haired girl. She smiled kindly at Claire. "You did a great job out there. I've always wanted to do something like that, but I've never had the courage." She looked down shyly.

Claire smiled at her. "Thank you. And yeah, a glass of water would be great."

While Mindy left to get the water, Claire sat and waited. She sat for a few minutes, and then she heard voices down the corridor. Curious, she got up and walked down the hallway, coming to the closed room that the voices were coming from and standing a few feet away from it.

"I need some, Margaret. You have to get it for me."

It was Malcolm. He sounded weak and in pain. Claire stepped a little closer and listened.

"Malcolm, it's late. You've gone this long; can't you wait a little longer?"

"No!" Malcolm's voice came urgently. "Now! Please. I need it. It hurts!"

"All right, all right." Margaret soothed him. "I'll go now. I'll meet you later at the house."

Claire walked as quickly and as silently as she could back to the end of the hallway where she had been sitting. A few minutes later, Margaret left the room, walking in the opposite direction and apparently not seeing Claire sitting at the other end.

A few minutes after that, Malcolm himself left the room. He looked around, then, seeing Claire sitting there, he smiled and walked to her. She smiled back, trying to appear casual.

He stood in front of her, leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry I missed your performance," he said. "I'm…not feeling my best at the moment."

Claire pretended to be surprised. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Ach, it's nothing," he said, waving it off. "I played football in high school, and I messed myself up pretty badly in the last game I played. The old aches and pains never go away completely."

Claire nodded. That explained the conversation she overheard. Malcolm must have been telling Margaret to fill a prescription for his pain—at least, she hoped it was a prescription. With his means, Claire was sure that Malcolm could afford all sorts of exotic opiates not approved by the FDA.

But he smiled with Prince Charming level-flirtation and she couldn't help but say, "You look like you're in fine shape to me."

The smile fell from his face and he looked at her with serious intentions. Instantly she regretted saying that. She didn't want to be in this situation with him.

"You know," he said, kneeling down to her level, "I hope you'll consider staying on. I'd…like to know more about you."

She smiled uneasily. "I'm—I'm only eighteen. There—there really isn't much to me."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Malcolm purred, letting his fingers run gently through the locks of hair that framed her face and looking her up and down. "Appearances are often deceiving. I think there's a whole universe inside this lovely shell."

"Claire," came a stern voice from the end of the hall. They both looked up. It was Gabriel. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, braced as if for a fight, the dark, terrorizing look of his old days on his face.

"Oh! Gabriel!" Claire stood up quickly, walked to him and took his hand, which felt ice cold and hard in hers.

Malcolm smiled genteelly and stood up as well. "I heard she did a wonderful job out there tonight. You must be proud," he told Gabriel.

Gabriel glared at Malcolm. "I am. We'll be going now."

Malcolm returned the glare, and, not taking his eyes away, said, "Claire, we'd love you to come back on Friday night and sing again."

"Okay," Claire said in a soft voice, looking at the two men who seemed locked in some sort of psychic challenge.

Malcolm blinked, as if to end the showdown, and smirked. "Good. We'll see you then." With that, he turned and walked away.

Gabriel was silent all the way home, gripping the wheel with both hands—something he never did. He usually drove with one hand, leisurely, as if the car and everything in and outside of it was completely under his control. Now, with the black supple leather of the steering wheel being kneaded under his deceptively lean fingers, Gabriel looked to Claire as if he was holding on for dear life to what he believed he knew.

She didn't dare say anything to him in the car. Despite the power, grace, and agility she knew he had, she didn't want to risk upsetting him while he drove. And quite honestly, she didn't know what to say, anyway.

They entered their room, Gabriel going first, Claire meekly following. She closed the door and leaned against it, watching him. He slowly removed his tie and jacket, then sat down and began to remove his shoes. His face looked white and calm, but Claire was willing to bet there was rage flowing underneath.

He said nothing, and the silence was beginning to feel maddening. She had to say something.

"I saw that guy again. The one who gave me the creeps earlier. He's the sound guy for the restaurant. I think if we follow him, we'll get to the bottom of all this."

Gabriel didn't reply. It was almost as if he didn't hear her, for he continued removing his shoes and then his dress shirt without skipping a beat.

Claire sighed and sat down at the small desk next to the window. "Nothing was going on with Malcolm, you know," she told him. "He's a flirt, that's all."

A long silence passed. Then, she heard him say with a quiet tenseness, "He's toying with you. He's trying to lead you into a false sense of comfort, so you'll let down your guard."

Claire swallowed and looked away. "You think he's the one we're looking for?"

Gabriel turned to her. "Possibly."

"Okay. What proof do you have?"

"I can sense it. He's not what he appears."

"What do you mean, you can sense it? What do you sense?"

Gabriel looked at her darkly. "He's a predator. Like me. He searches for something specific, targets it, and takes it."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Gabriel, you're describing a cutthroat businessman. Which he probably is."

He smirked. "You can have a day job."

She nodded. "True. And I'm sure your 'senses' have nothing to do with the fact that you're jealous."

He glared at her. "I don't get jealous. Jealousy is below me."

Claire stood up. "No, it's not! You like to think that all your abilities and your intellect make you superhuman, but they don't. At the core, you're like every other human being on this planet—afraid of losing control!" She now began walking towards him. "I saw the way you were driving tonight. You practically left indentations in the steering wheel, you were gripping it so tight! Now why don't you just admit it—you hate the fact that I had a premonition, that I have a job that puts me at the center of attention, and that my boss is a young, handsome, rich businessman that finds me attractive."

She was now right in his face, looking up at him defiantly in spite of the fact that he could break her if he wanted to, either by physical or mental means.

"I think I know what you're most afraid of: that maybe I'm as attracted to him as he is to me," she said in a soft, fierce whisper.

She saw his eyes blaze and he pointed his finger at her. She felt herself get thrown onto the bed, and he was on top of her. He grabbed her wrists and brought them above her head. She cried out and struggled, but he held her tightly.

"You're mine. Don't forget that," he growled in an octave below his usual voice range. He ground his hips roughly against hers.

Claire couldn't believe it, but being dominated like this actually turned her on; besides, all of her struggling was doing no good. So she carefully raised her head, and pressed her lips against his. "I haven't forgotten," she whispered.

She felt his grip loosen slightly on her wrists, only to find that he now brought both her wrists in the clasp of his right hand, while his left moved under her linen shirt. He laid his palm against her stomach, his hand warm on her skin. She began to feel herself tense, her breath now coming in short puffs. She wanted more.

She got her wish. Looking deep into her eyes, Gabriel now moved his hand from her taut belly upward, his two fingers sliding slowly under the material of her bra to come just to rest on her nipple. Claire moaned lightly and rubbed herself against his fingertips.

He pulled his fingers out from under the silky fabric and moved his hand under her, to undo the clasp in the back. Claire found, with a pleasant surprise, that he did it quickly and effortlessly. The confining material now less of an obstacle, Gabriel brought his free hand back to her full breast, kneading it firmly, then rolling the bud of her nipple between his fingers.

She cried out and tried to arch against his hand. It wasn't fair; he had her pinned so tight she couldn't do anything! Her cries were muffled when he bent down and kissed her with such a passion that it nearly took the air right out of her.

As he kissed her, he eventually let go of her wrists with his left hand, his right moved down from her breasts, and both hands were now at her waist. Grabbing the tops of her pants, he pulled downwards, bringing her underwear with it. Before she could even react, he reached up again, pulling her shirt and bra off as well and using his telekinesis to make them fly to the floor.

Then he was at her side on the bed, pulling her against him. It felt strange for her—he fully clothed, she completely naked. But she was going to fix that.

Still on their sides facing each other, she pulled off his shirt, him giving her no resistance. Then she carefully unbuckled his belt, unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, and, in the same manner as he had stripped her, took off his remaining clothing in one fell swoop.

Claire pressed herself against him, feeling his erection pressing urgently to her, and she smiled. But Gabriel still held that dark, predatory look in his eyes.

Before she knew it, she was lying on her stomach, and he was pushing one of the pillows under her hips. Then he was on top of her, wrapping his arms just under her breastbone.

She gasped.

"Shh," he said, kissing her cheek. "Trust me."

It was later that night, after the torrid session, that she realized. After they'd rutted like animals, him pushing roughly into her, her pushing back as hard as she could to take him all in. After she heard him get out of bed, throw his clothes back on, and tell her he needed to take care of something. It was after he had returned quietly and slipped beneath the covers again that Claire remembered that Mindy never brought her that glass of water.

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Briggs is looking at me intently, the judgment so clear on his face. "So you killed Mindy Royster, that very same night Mr. Everett approached Ms. Bennet."

I sit back in my chair and look at him, soberly. "Yes," I say simply.

I know he was hoping I'd say more. He's hoping I'll say something that will let him into the inner workings of my mind, or maybe something that will help him figure out exactly how I did it. But I don't say anything. I'm quite tired of talking, actually. My cigarettes are all gone and the terrible craving for them is taking me over. It's all I can do to keep from killing the annoying little man right now.

Still he presses on. "Why her? Why kill Mindy Royster? She did nothing to you."

I roll my eyes. "That never stopped me before. I did it because there was the necessity, and she was there."

He glares at me in that way that has often broken the lowlifes he's used to questioning, but is merely amusing to me. Then he says, "Did you enjoy killing her?"

"Oh, Jesus," I groan in frustration. The simple fool still doesn't get it. He still believes that all murderers do it for some thrill. I don't bother to recognize the question any further and I sit in stony silence.

After five minutes, he gets an idea. He leaves the room for a moment, then comes back with a new pack of Menthols and a lighter, tossing them across the table to me.

Tentatively, I open the pack, pull out a cigarette, and light it, feeling the anxiety leave my body. I smile and blow the smoke upward.

"You know what I like, Detective. Smart move."

He cocks an eyebrow and nods. "Now, will you answer my questions?"

I shrug. "Why not? It's convenient for me—for now."

I know he's still unnerved by the threat I pitched at him about an hour ago. He doesn't want to believe it, of course. After all, there's nothing about me that appears to be terribly formidable. He's sure that a big strapping policeman like himself could take me on. But there's still that fear lurking in the back of his mind, a little voice saying that maybe he's wrong. Even so, he has to take the chance.

He leans forward, menacingly. "Tell me about Mindy Royster's murder."

I take another drag and smile. "Certainly, Lieutenant. But in order to do that, I have to tell you about all the other murders I've committed like it. I hope you have the stomach for it."


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing that came to her was the sound of voices, incoherent, but insistent. She opened her eyes slowly, turning them toward the sound. It was the television. She raised her head slightly to see Gabriel sitting cross-legged on the ground, eating something.

She sat up and stretched, and noticed that her body still felt sensitive from the previous night's activities. But neither her stirring from bed, nor her loud, open-mouthed yawn succeeded in eliciting a response from Gabriel. He seemed to be glued to the screen, heedless of what was around him.

"Good morning," she called out hopefully.

"The body of a woman was found in New Orleans yesterday night. Mummified," was the greeting Claire received in return.

"All right," she replied, swinging her legs out of bed and standing up, pulling her hair into a bun. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He turned back to look at her. "Two interesting things. One, she had only been dead for a year, which doesn't happen with mummification, and two, she was found below the ruins of what had been Malcolm Everett's nightclub."

Claire felt her heart pounding in her chest. She sat down on the carpet next to Gabriel. "How could she be mummified if she had only been dead a year?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. That dream you had might explain it somehow. You said you felt like the life was being sucked out of you."

"Yes," she agreed, and shuddered remembering it. Desperately wanting to put the image out of her mind, she changed the subject. "Where did you go last night? I heard you get out of bed."

He didn't answer right away. He got up from the floor and went to throw the wrapping for whatever he had been eating into the trashcan in the bathroom. When he emerged, he said, "I went to the store to get a sketch pad and pencils. I thought it might help if I tried to draw a bit."

Claire got up in excitement. "What did you draw?"

He paused, the shook his head. "Nothing that would help us."

Before Claire could press further, Gabriel shoved his wallet into the pocket of his jeans and headed to the door quickly.

Claire followed him. "Where are you going?"

He opened the door and looked back at her. "We need supplies. I'll be back soon." He walked away.

She shut the door behind him, then, thinking, opened the door and called out to him. He was halfway down the hall.

"Gabriel!" she called. He turned around and looked at her.

She sighed. "Are you—you're not mad at me, are you?"

He stared at her for a few seconds. Then, he replied, "No. Not yet." He turned and continued walking.

She shut the door again and frowned in confusion. What did he mean by that? Her confusion quickly turned to anger. Even after all that had happened, all that they shared, he still could cut himself from her as easily as one cuts a loose thread from a piece of clothing.

She still felt tired, but she wanted to try to be productive. She took a shower, then changed into running clothes and sat down on the bed, turning on the news to see if there was any more information about the woman in New Orleans. She lay on her side, her head propped up on her hand. She remembered last night thinking of Mindy, the waitress, and how she never came back. She started to feel her eyelids getting heavy, her mind seeming to become emerged in deep, clear water…

She was in a kitchen. A large commercial kitchen. In spite of the multiple light fixtures adorning the ceiling, it was quite dim. She walked slowly towards what little light there was, and saw that there was someone behind the counter, taking a glass from a shelf below and walking to a large refrigerator to get ice. As she got closer, she saw that it was a woman, tall and lithe, with bright red hair.

"Mindy," she said aloud, finding that her voice was barely audible.

She tried to get closer to her, but something was keeping her back, some sort of forcefield. Every time she tried to break through, it was as if a bubble surrounded her, holding her still.

She soon realized that she and Mindy were not alone. There was that presence again, the same one that she felt in her other dream. It felt dark, and cold.

Mindy seemed to feel it too, because she looked up from the glass she was filling with ice and turned to see who it was.

"Mindy get out of here!" she tried to cry, but the red-haired girl couldn't hear her.

Then the shadow fell upon her. Mindy screamed and tried to run away, but she seemed to be paralyzed. The shadow fell upon her limbs like black silky tendrils and held her fast. Mindy's body began to shake violently, as if in a seizure. More and more of the tendrils were flowing out of the shadow, engulfing her body. Her screams were now completely muted.

Claire tried desperately to break out of the bubble that held her, but it was no use. She could only stand by helplessly as the girl was being attacked.

The black tendrils had now completely engulfed Mindy's body, flowing into her ears, her mouth, her nose. Her shaking had stopped. There was a soft whooshing sound, and then the shadow flattened and changed shape, now sailing across the floor. Claire shut her eyes tightly, terrified to look. Finally she opened them again to find a corpse on the floor, nothing but bones and dried skin, strands of red hair still clinging to the skull.

Claire's own scream woke her up. She gasped, kicking and punching the air, still believing she was encased in the bubble. She sat up slowly, feeling the awful sensation of her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around, finding with relief that she was alone. Gabriel was still out, apparently. Then she looked at the clock to find, with surprise, that only five minutes had gone by.

Gabriel had taken the mustang, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. Putting on shoes, she began her determined walk to Juneberry.

It took her a long time to get there, but by the time she did, the restaurant had just opened for the lunch hour. Bypassing the hostess and the tables of patrons, she boldly made her way to the back offices. She didn't know exactly who she was looking for or how she would explain the dream she had, but she felt the answer was there, in those rooms.

Apparently no one had missed Mindy yet, and if she really had been killed like her dream predicted, her body hadn't been found. The kitchen and wait staff moved about calmly at a normal pace. Margaret and Malcolm were nowhere to be found.

Claire moved past the kitchen area, towards the hallway where she had been sitting the night before. She had gotten to the very end of the hallway and had found nothing and no one, and in frustration turned back.

There he was. The old man. Carlisle.

He had his back to her, walking out of one room and appearing to be headed towards the entrance to the stage. Claire began walking quickly towards him, her previous fear of him fading and being replaced by fury.

Before he could elude her, she grabbed his shoulder roughly and spun him around, looking into his colorless eyes. He was an old man, but Claire hadn't realized before how fragile he was. She could feel his bones sharply through his shirt, and the flesh of his arms hung loosely from them. Physically, he was quite frail.

That wasn't going to deter her. "You gave me those dreams, didn't you?" she demanded. When he wouldn't answer she seized his arms and shook him. "Why did you show me those terrible things?"

His eyes glowed with hatred, but he did not fight back. "He's hungry," he drawled. "He's so, so hungry."

"Who?" Claire practically shouted, her grip on his arms tightening.

He winced and shook her off. "I think you're the one he's wanted all this time. The one that will take his hunger away at last."

Claire didn't want riddles; she wanted answers. And since this old man's power seemed to lie only in dreams, she felt she could easily intimidate him, she wasn't going to back down until she got what she wanted.

She pushed him against the wall, his back hitting the sheetrock audibly. He didn't cry out at all. But she didn't care. She asked him again. "What is going on? Tell me!"

Just then, the sound of a door opening was heard and footsteps were coming in their direction. Claire turned her head to see, and was distracted long enough to miss seeing the old man pull out a knife. Before she could even turn back to him, he'd plunged the knife into her belly. She groaned, doubling over.

"Oh my God! Claire!" came the sound of Margaret's voice. The old man slipped by Claire and ran down the opposite end of the hallway, pushing through the exit.

"Carlisle!" Margaret shouted, then rushed to Claire, who had had enough time to pull the knife out of her stomach without being seen (she hoped).

"Are you all right?" Margaret asked. Claire was now leaning against the wall, panting. She could feel the wound beginning to close up, and turned to face the wall to hide it.

Margaret turned her around. "We need to get you to a doctor!"

Claire shook her head. "No. He only tore my shirt. See?" she said, showing that she was unmarked.

Margaret stared at her for a long time. Claire met her gaze as evenly as she could. Then the tension was broken by a short, humorless laugh from the older woman. "Well, Carlisle's an old man. I guess he didn't have the strength to do it all the way, thank goodness." She walked out towards the exit. "I had no idea he'd do something like this. He's had a history of emotional problems. But this… dear God." She walked back to Claire. "Malcolm tried to protect him as long as he could. But we can't anymore. We have to tell the authorities."

"He's—he's done this before?" Claire asked as innocently as she could.

Margaret bent her head, seemingly in sorrow and guilt. "He's…special, Claire. He's special. That's all I can say." She looked at the young woman and sighed. "I'll take care of this. I promise." With that, she walked away.

Claire leaned against the wall for a while, feeling weak and drained despite the fact that her healing factor had already taken care of the wound she received. Why had the old man stabbed her? If he was the one who gave her those dreams and killed Mindy and that other woman, why didn't he do the same thing to her? And who was this other person he talked about, the one who was always "hungry?"

Her train of thought was broken by cries of terror. They were coming from the kitchen area. Alarmed, she ran to the sound. Claire walked in to find most of the wait staff standing around Dani, who was in tears and hysterical. Margaret stood at the edge of the circle, and flashed Claire a sorrowful, knowing look when she saw her.

"What is it? Dani, tell us," Louise said.

"M-M-Mindy. I s-saw her in the dumpster outside. She-she's d-d-dead," Dani blubbered in between sobs. "It doesn't even look like her!"

The police soon arrived, and Claire was stuck there. She'd tried so hard to avoid them ever since she learned of her power, but it was inevitable. Hopefully, little attention would be given to her.

The head of the investigation, an African-American man named Briggs, began questioning everyone once Mindy's body was found and taken away. The majority of the staff was allowed to go, not having seen anything, but Margaret, Claire, and Dani stayed behind. Claire had to stay because Margaret instantly pinned Mindy's murder on Carlisle, then pointed to Claire and said, "He just tried to stab this young woman here before he ran away."

Before Claire knew it, she was being taken aside and grilled for everything she knew. First, she was examined by the police physician, despite her insistence that she hadn't been hurt in any way, that the blade of the knife merely tore her clothing. Then Briggs fired one question after the other at her.

"What were the circumstances of your confrontation with Mr. Janney?"

"I came to the restaurant because I was looking for Margaret. I…decided that I wanted to cut short my contract with her, and I needed to talk to her about it. I'm part of the live entertainment. I saw him, and I wanted to ask him something."

"What was that?"

"He gave me a very cold look the other day, and I wanted to know what his problem was. He wouldn't answer me, and I kept asking him. Then, he heard Ms. Winstead approaching, and he pulled out a knife. I saw it, and jumped back just in time to avoid getting stabbed. He only put a hole in my shirt. Margaret called to him, and he ran away."

Briggs looked at her closely. "Do you know why Mr. Janney would have given you a 'cold look'?"

Claire shook her head. "None at all. But Margaret told me after he left that he had emotional problems. Maybe he just doesn't like women." Claire hoped it would be all right that she repeated what the older woman had told her. Then again, Margaret had been quick to pin Mindy's murder on Carlisle, and Claire was just telling the detective the truth. Well, the truth she could tell without compromising herself, of course.

Briggs seemed to consider what she had said, then changed gears. "Did you know Mindy Royster?"

"I only met her a few days ago, when I first came to practice. Yesterday, after I performed, she came up to me backstage and asked if I wanted some water. I told her yes, but she never came back, and I went home."

"Approximately when did you talk to her, and when did you leave last night?"

"Uh…I guess it was about a quarter to nine when she came up to me, and then I left around nine thirty."

"Did she say anything to you? Anything that seemed suspicious?"

"No. She just complimented me on my performance, then asked if I wanted something to drink."

"Where do you live, Ms. Bennet?"

"I don't have a permanent address. Right now I'm staying at the Bluebell on Garrison Avenue."

"Any reason why?"

Claire looked at him closely. What was he trying to find out? "My boyfriend and I just haven't found the right place for us. We're nomads, you could say."

"And this…boyfriend of yours? Can he support everything you've said?"

Claire nodded firmly. "Yes, he can."

Briggs asked her a few more questions, then allowed her to go, telling her not to leave the area, to keep her "nomadic" instincts at bay. Gratefully, Claire left the restaurant and began walking back to the hotel, feeling absolutely drained.

She was almost halfway there when she heard the honking of a car horn. She turned back to see the blue and silver mustang pulling up to the curb. She walked to it.

Gabriel rolled down the window and leaned over. "Get in," he told her. "I have something to tell you."

Claire obeyed and sighed deeply as her back hit the leather seat. She was exhausted.

Gabriel eyed her, perplexed, then pulled back onto the road. "What's wrong with you?"

"I've just been questioned about Mindy Royster's murder. And Carlisle Janney's attempt to stab me in the stomach," she said in a monotone reserved for those extreme moments of fatigue.

"Carlisle Janney?"

"Yeah. You now, the old man who was staring at me funny the other day. He's the one who gave me the dreams."

"Oh," Gabriel said quietly.

"What do you have to tell me?"

"Malcolm Everett isn't what he seems."

Claire sighed. "So you've said. What have you found?"

Gabriel didn't answer right away. He drove for a few blocks, then turned off into a park ground, parking the car on a dirt road.

Ignoring Claire's puzzled look, Gabriel reached behind them to the back seat and pulled out a folder. Flipping through the contents, he handed her a legal-sized piece of glossy paper.

Claire took it from him and looked at it. It was a black and white picture of a Victorian home.

"It's nice," she commented. "It looks like Juneberry."

"It _is_ Juneberry," Gabriel corrected.

Claire looked up at him. "Huh?"

"I did some research and found this picture of a Victorian style mansion, built in 1869 in Boston, Massachusetts. When the owner bought the land, it was overgrown with wild blackberries, and it was finally finished in June. Hence the name 'Juneberry'."

"So Malcolm did some research too, and found the same place, and modeled his restaurant after it."

Gabriel sighed. "No, Claire." Then he took out another paper and handed it to her.

She took it from him, and when she saw the picture, she gasped. It was a photocopy of a daguerreotype. There was a young man standing next to the house, a sober look on his face created by having to stand for nearly an hour for the picture to be taken. But in spite of the distortions created by age, in spite of the period clothing, Claire recognized the man right away.

"Malcolm Everett is the original owner of Juneberry, the mansion built over a century ago," Gabriel told her.

Claire looked up at him, perplexed. "But for this to be true, he'd have to be over a hundred fifty years old!"

"Is that so hard to imagine, with all we've seen?" he replied with a shrug.

"That article I read in Georgia listed him as being 25 years old. And besides, this photo doesn't prove anything. I've seen pictures of my dad and his grandfather as children side by side. You'd swear they were the same person, they looked so much alike."

"Well, the man was listed as being named John Daniels. But Everett could have changed his name after awhile. He'd have to change identities from time to time, or else people would get suspicious as to why he hadn't aged."

Claire shook her head. "I think Carlisle Janney is behind this. Margaret told me that Malcolm had been covering for him and that he was special."

"But if that were true, why wouldn't he just kill you?"

"He did try to kill me. He stabbed me."

Gabriel sat back in his seat, silent. Then he said, "There's more going on than meets the eye. And until we know what it is, I want you to stay away from that restaurant."

Claire sat up indignantly. "Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do?"

Gabriel met her glare with just as much vehemence. "I am the only one who should have that right. Everett, Winstead, this Carlisle guy—they are all hiding something. You're in danger."

"Oh yeah? And how are you going to make me stay away?"

Gabriel smirked and starting driving back to the hotel. "I have a number of ways. I can keep you under my telekinetic hold so that you can't as much move a finger, I could freeze you into a rather lovely ice sculpture, or I could just send a shard of glass into your brain so you stay dead until I can get you away from this place."

Claire couldn't believe it. "You'd actually shove something into my brain and kill me?"

"It worked on your boy Petrelli, didn't it?"

Even in the midst of her anger, Claire still tried to make herself believe that he was only saying these things to scare her into listening to him so he would be able to keep her safe. Even so, Gabriel hit below the belt with that comment about Peter, and it stung. He knew that Claire had a soft spot in her heart for her biological uncle. She knew Gabriel hated him, but if it hadn't been for Peter keeping her safe from him during his "Sylar" days, they would never had fallen in love.

But maybe Gabriel wasn't as thrilled to be in love as Claire was. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if he viewed their relationship as more of a burden than anything else. He seemed content with the sex they had, but when it came to warmth and sensitivity, he still shied away. Would that ever change? Or would Claire have to settle?

They drove to the hotel in silence, and walked into the building in the same fashion. Gabriel walked ahead, seeming to be content with the conversation, while Claire sulked behind. She nearly passed the desk when the clerk called out, "Excuse me, miss?"

She stopped and turned to him. "Yes?"

"A letter was just delivered for you. The gentleman asked that I give it to you personally when you came in." He handed her the envelope.

Claire looked at it, the small white folded sheet with her name written in elegant cursive on the front. Then, cautiously, she looked ahead to see if Gabriel was around. But no, he must have gone upstairs to his room. She walked to the lounge and sat down, opening the envelope and reading the note inside:

_Dear Claire,_

_I heard about what happened today at Juneberry. Words cannot express the shame and guilt I feel over Carlisle's attack on you. I can only hope you'll let me make it up to you. _

_I know you have questions. I know Margaret told you certain things about him. Please allow me the chance to explain everything. All I ask is five minutes of your time to do the best I can to set it right. _

_I will be waiting in my office at Juneberry at 5 o'clock. If you can find it in your heart to come back here, I will explain everything. If not, and you want nothing more to do with us, I will understand. Please send a forwarding address and Margaret will send you the money that's owed to you._

_I do want you to know that I feel you have a great talent, and much potential. In case I don't get the chance to tell you that in person, I want you to know how special you are._

_Yours,_

_Malcolm_

Claire re-read the note two more times, then just sat there for a few minutes. What should she do? If Gabriel was right, then she might be walking right into a trap. But then again, he might be wrong and Malcolm was just a bar owner with an incredible burden.

She was still angry with Gabriel, and even if he was right, she almost would rather get killed than follow his orders like a good little doormat.

Throwing her doubts aside, she boldly got up from the sofa and walked out of the hotel's double doors.


	5. Chapter 5

_I remember the first time I saw him. He was quite old, but he still held himself with an erect posture and a dignity that spoke volumes. His hair was a striking combination of silver and gray, and it waved back behind his ears. Even at his age, his mouth held a sensuality when he smiled that I hadn't been expecting. It frightened me a little, in fact._

_I was waiting tables in a café in New York, and he was sitting all the way in the back, sipping his coffee and staring at me. Even all the way in the back, and with me moving about all over the place and busy, I could feel his eyes on me. I was young and poor and desperate, and I kept telling myself that if he made me a proposal, I should take it. There's no shame in doing what you have to do to survive._

_Finally he reached the bottom of his coffee, and he was laying a bill down on the table. I was half relieved and half disappointed, not understanding why I felt the latter._

_I had to wait on another couple, and by the time I was done with them and had walked back to his table, he was gone. I swallowed and began to collect the dishes and the money. And then I felt a hand on the small of my back, a touch so soft and delicate that I nearly dropped the dishes to the ground. _

_He whispered in my ear, "You're beautiful. Meet me in Times Square if you want a better life."_

_So help me, I met him! It was dark, and the crowds were terrible, but I saw him easily. It was like he was made of pure light and my eyes could do nothing else but find him. I went to him, and he caressed my cheek. I'd been touched by a man before, _men_ before, but his touch was like nothing else. I knew he was no ordinary man._

_And in spite of his age, he was an excellent lover. The next morning, with me lying in bed still nude, him standing fully clothed above me, he told me that I was special. That I had a gift._

"_I will give you everything you want: money, fame, education. And I ask only one thing in return," he told me._

"_What's that?" I asked, my body sore and sensitive, and yearning for more. I would have done anything in that moment._

_He reached down and cupped my face in his hands. "I want you to give me my life back. Time has stolen it from me, but you, darling, will return it to me."_

_And I did! My oh my, but I did! But once was not enough. Again and again, I had to do it. I had to feed him. But what choice did I have? I was in love, and I knew that no man would ever be able to love me the way he did._

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Claire knew she could be walking into a trap, but she also didn't care. She felt the same way she did months ago when she met Gabriel (then Sylar) at his lair and gave herself to him in spite of all logic and reason. There would be moments when she lost control, that she would be reckless. But she wouldn't be much of an "Indestructible Cheerleader" if she didn't. She laughed to herself. She was the stuff of legend. Perhaps hundreds of years from now, someone would tell her story.

Claire knocked on the door, but got no response. She knocked again, then looked at her watch. Yes, it was 5 on the dot. She stepped back and looked at the door. Yes, she was in the right place. Malcolm had meant that very day, she questioned herself. Finally, tired of standing in the hallway feeling like a fool, she took a deep breath and tried the door, giving a warning knock as she found it unlocked.

At first the room seemed empty, but then Claire peered around the corner and found Malcolm and Margaret sitting in chairs facing one another, him holding her hand in both of his. She looked distressed, and he was trying to comfort her. They both looked up in surprise when they saw her.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to intrude," Claire said in embarrassment.

"No, that's all right. It's my fault, I heard you knock," Malcolm said, getting up. Margaret took a deep breath and stood up as well.

"Do you want to see me now?" Claire asked, feeling unsure of everything.

"Yes! Yes, please, sit down," Malcolm indicated the chair Margaret had been sitting in.

She sat down, and an uncomfortable silence followed. She was unsure why. Then Malcolm turned to Margaret and said, "Would you excuse us, Margaret?"

She stared at him, seemingly shocked that he would ask her, his trusted partner and advisor, to leave the room. But she smiled a fake, pleasant smile and turned to leave. She looked back only once to give Claire a very cold look, the same look she gave her the first night they met.

Claire felt unnerved by that, but her discontent was soon replaced by anxiety over the fact that Malcolm was now sitting close to her in the other chair. Trying to shake it off, she smiled sadly and said, "Is she all right?"

Malcolm's perpetual smile fell. "I wish that she was. This whole thing that's happened with Carlisle and Mindy…oh, she blames herself for what he did."

"Then—then he did do it?" Claire asked softly.

Malcolm looked at her evenly. "I have no doubts, though I wish I did." He sighed. "Carlisle…raised me, you could say. I was born into wealth. The name of this restaurant—Juneberry—I named it after the home I grew up in in Boston. My great grandfather built it himself."

_So I was right about the pictures,_ Claire thought to herself quickly.

Malcolm continued. "Carlisle was the groundskeeper for several years, and although he treated me with great love and affection, I knew there was something sinister to him. But, when I decided to leave Boston and start my own business, I felt like I had to take care of him. So I took him along with me. I hate to say this, but Margaret became almost like a caregiver for him once I became engrossed in my business. That's why she blames herself."

"You and Margaret are very close, aren't you?" Claire asked, remembering the iciness of her stare.

Malcolm seemed surprised by her question, but he nodded. "I've learned a lot from her. She's kept me sane in many situations. She's…almost like a mother to me." Claire couldn't help but notice that when he said that, he almost seemed to be trying to suppress a laugh.

"Well, I guess she's old enough," Claire said without thinking. Malcolm gave her a strange look.

He got up from his seat. "Can I get you something to drink?" Claire politely declined.

As Malcolm helped himself to a drink, Claire stared at him through narrowed eyes. She felt like there was more going on between Malcolm and Margaret than either one of them would let on. Truthfully, it was none of her business.

When Malcolm returned to his seat, he smiled flirtatiously at her and asked, "What about you and…I'm sorry, what's his name?"

"Gabriel," Claire said in such a flat manner that she was sure he'd heard the anger in her voice. "Our relationship is…complicated."

"The best ones always are," he noted, sipping his drink.

Claire looked away. She didn't come here to discuss her relationship with Gabriel. She came here for answers.

"Does talking about him always make you this uncomfortable?" Malcolm asked.

Claire laughed as lightly as she could and said, "Yes. Always."

Malcolm leaned a little closer to her. "He has a dark past, doesn't he?"

Claire felt herself get cold, and goosebumps rise on her skin. "Yes. How did you know?"

Malcolm sat back again. "I could see it in his eyes. I've become quite good at seeing into people."

"A part of business?"

Malcolm paused for a moment. "Yes. Business." He smiled again. "Gabriel frightens you sometimes."

"It's more of aggravation these days."

"It's because you two are different. You want to live in the world. He wants to live above it."

Claire smiled in surprise. "That's a good way of putting it. I hadn't thought of it that way before."

Much to Claire's surprise, Malcolm took her hand in his, the way he'd taken Margaret's before. "You and I, on the other hand, are very much alike. We see the beauty in the world's pleasures." He began stroking her hand with his thumb. It felt wonderful, but Claire forced herself to break away.

"Malcolm…you don't know me. You don't know what I can do," she told him. She got out of the chair and walked away.

He followed her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You believe that no one can understand you. You feel that even now, even with Gabriel there, you are alone. But you don't have to be." He turned her around. "I can see into you. You are so much more than…this." He ran his hands along the sides of her arms, then pulled her closer to him. Before Claire knew what was happening, her lips were pressed against his.

She almost felt lost in herself, but she broke the kiss and said, "I can't. I can't do this." She pushed herself away from him.

Malcolm sighed, as if in frustration about the circumventing of a conquest. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Claire turned to him. "I haven't survived by trusting everyone I meet," she answered coldly.

He laughed wryly. "I understand that. It takes more than sweet words and a kiss to win the heart of Claire Bennet. Your boyfriend should know."

He walked to his desk and sat down, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together as if to negotiate a business deal. "What would it take for me to win you away from him?"

Claire scoffed in surprise. "I'm not a commodity to be bartered," she told him indignantly.

Malcolm sighed. "There are still things I need to tell you, I know. But if you give me a chance, I will leave nothing uncovered. In return, I can give you wealth, fame…love," he said with his most charming smile.

Claire smiled disbelievingly. "That's not enough to make me happy."

"And the freedom to live the life you want," Malcolm added. When Claire didn't answer right away, he got up from his seat and put an arm around her shoulders, walking her to the door.

"Think about it," he told her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "This has my home address. If you decide to take my offer, come see me here. Juneberry will be closed for the rest of the week because of what's happened."

Claire walked out of the office and continued down the hall, listening only for the sound of the door closing behind her.

She returned to the hotel to find Gabriel outside, leaning against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette and staring thoughtfully into space.

She felt a knot of dread in her stomach when she saw him, but it was replaced by confusion when she saw him taking inhaling the smoke, making the lit end of the stick burn brighter with the intake of oxygen.

"I didn't know you smoked," was the only thing Claire could think to ask him first.

He shrugged and put it out. "One of the security guards gave it to me. Told me that I looked 'tense' and that it would help calm my nerves. Always worked for him, he said."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You don't seem like the type to do something like that."

He looked at her with complete unconcern. "Well, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do, Claire," he said quietly.

Before she could answer, he began to walk away. When he had gotten a few feet, he stopped and turned around. "By the way, I know you were curious about the drawings I did. I left one for you that you might find interesting." With that, he continued walking towards the setting sun.

Claire felt like she had just been slapped. Her whole body felt cold and in pain for some reason. Slowly she turned and went to their room. After she had closed the door behind her and took off her shoes, she walked over to the bed, where a folded piece of paper lay on her pillow. Cautiously, she unfolded it. It was a pencil sketch of two people, a man and a woman. The man had his hands on the woman's arms, and he was dipping his head down for a kiss. The man appeared to have dark curly hair, the girl had shoulder length blonde hair.

Claire gasped. He had seen.


	6. Chapter 6

He had just gotten home, had just put the key in the door. The house was dark and warm, with just the faintest scent of pine. The cleaning people had been there today. He wandered into his lounge, about to put on some music and relax when he heard a bitter voice come from the darkness:

"Judas."

Immediately his hand groped for the light switch and he flipped it on. There was Margaret, sitting in his chair, a cigarette in her hand.

She scowled and shook her head. "After all I've done for you. All my work to keep you alive and well. Now you go and betray me for a child."

His smile did not falter, even in the face of such jarring accusations. "Darling, you've misunderstood."

She scoffed, and put out the cigarette. "I understand perfectly. My gray hair and my wrinkles have turned you off. But I remember when the shoe was on the other foot: when I was the fresh young thing with the world at my fingertips, and you were a dry husk of a man grasping at pleasures that you had no right to. I gave you a new life. No matter what happens, Malcolm, you will always be in my debt."

He laughed so hard his head actually went backwards. "And you, dear Margaret? You don't think you owe any debt to me?" He walked towards her challengingly. You seem to have forgotten little Maggie White who waited tables in a dingy café on Lexington. It was I who made you what you are today."

It was her turn to laugh, bitterly. "And what am I, Malcolm? A lackey. Hired help. Your pimp, if you wish." She swept her hand back, as a doorman does when welcoming guests to a resort. "All I've done, I've done for love. And that's all gone now."

He quickly came and knelt in front of her. "The girl means nothing to me. She is like all the others before her, darling—just a means to an end. But she is different in one way. She's like me. Which means that once you feed me with her, you might never have to do it again."

Margaret looked down at him, then glanced away, unconvinced.

Malcolm put his hands on her shoulders. "You're right. You're right about it all. I would be nothing without you. I'd be a shell of a man, a mind vibrant and vital as ever inside of a withering, decaying body I couldn't escape from. You saved me from all that, and that's why my life belongs to you. You must believe that. You must stay with me!"

She looked at him again. "Then why did you ask to be alone with her?"

He sighed. "Because if she were alone, the job would be easy enough to do. But the man she's with…he has great power, darling. I can sense it. I have to break them apart if I'm to get what I want. I have to separate her from his protection."

Margaret sat up in the chair. "Then let's go now. Let's do it and get it over with."

His eyes widened. "He might still be with her. I don't think I…completely convinced her tonight."

Margaret showed a twinge of envy, but continued. "I have full faith in your abilities. If you love me, we'll go."

He sighed. "Very well." Taking her by the arm, they began to set out.

But Malcolm stopped in his tracks when he felt a presence. He looked around, narrowing his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Margaret asked.

"There's someone else here." Malcolm broke away from his lover and began to turn on the lights in the hallway and dining room.

Still nothing. But the presence lurked, and Malcolm felt dread settling into him. He didn't like this feeling of not being in control. He walked around the ground floor, wondering if they should check upstairs.

"Let's go, Malcolm!" Margaret insisted. Unconsciously she wrapped her arms around herself. She felt quite cold all of a sudden. The air seemed as chill and crisp as if she were in the Swiss Alps.

Malcolm felt it too. This was no natural occurrence, he was sure. He exhaled and saw his breath in faint white puffs. They had to get out of there.

He grabbed Margaret's hand and they headed for the door. Before they got there, a strong force seemed to take hold of them and throw them violently backwards. They both landed on their backs onto the floor with a gasp and a thud.

Malcolm jumped to his feet and helped Margaret up. Then they turned and saw him, partly shrouded in the darkness, his eyes glowing mischievously.

"Time for a hostile takeover," he purred to them.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Claire didn't know what to do. Should she stay, wait for Gabriel, try to explain everything? She wasn't going to Malcolm Everett's mansion; even with all his promises of explanations, his seductions, his flatteries, she didn't trust him. She knew there was something much larger going on, and she had a feeling she was being left out of a good deal of it.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She put her shoes back on, and flung open the door, only to find Carlisle Janney standing in the doorway.

She gasped and stumbled backwards. He walked in to the room, stalking after her and his eyes clear and determined.

Again, she was paralyzed with fear. She couldn't bring herself to run, or to try to fight back. All she could do was…stare. And that's all he could do as well, it seemed.

Finally, after a minute's worth of tension, he spoke. "My last name isn't Janney. It's Daniels."

At first, Claire was confused. Then she repeated the name. "Daniels? Like the man who built the first Juneberry mansion?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he told her, "He's coming to get you. It doesn't matter that you didn't take his offer. My father always gets what he wants."

Claire gasped and walked backwards again, forgetting the bed was there and stumbling onto it. He followed her, now standing over her.

"It's time to make you see," he told her. Claire looked up and him and tried to scream, but no sound came out. His hands came to rest on the sides of her head, and she began to feel tired, very very tired…

_It was a stately mansion, with a well-manicured lawn, fresh coats of paint, the porch and walkways always swept. A young boy played in the yard, the help looking on…_

_And then he was sneaking in to his father's study to see what sorts of treasures he could find. He pushed open the door, only to discover his father was already in there._

_His father had a long sword in his hands, fatally sharp and shining when the sun hit it. And then, he watch as his father pointed the blade at himself, and pushed it with all his strength into his stomach. _

_He was so terrified he couldn't even scream. He was glued to the spot. His father doubled over, gasping for breath, but then he grabbed the handle of the sword and pulled it out as fast as he could. Then he straightened, and looked down at his stomach. His father was laughing. In terror, he ran away._

_Later that day at dinner, his father seemed perfectly fine. He complimented his mother, chatted pleasantly with the help, offered to take him to get ice cream. He couldn't understand. How could his father stab himself mortally, and then enjoy a laid-back summer afternoon?_

_His father got older, but he never seemed to age like normal people. Instead his strength seemed to increase, his mind seemed to get sharper. But he still aged, and Carlisle kept expecting the inevitable loss of a parent. _

_But it didn't happen. And then, one day, his father introduced him to a young woman named Maggie White, who, he was told, had an incredible gift. She could manipulate the energy of life-force. She could drain it out of one person, and give it to another. His father even allowed him to watch Maggie in action one day. They picked up a young drifter, promised him shelter and a meal. Carlisle gripped the walls as he watched Maggie touch the sides of the boy's face while he screamed in pain. _

_He dropped to the ground, a dry husk. Maggie then brought her hands to his father's face, and Carlisle saw the winkles begin to smooth, the gray hair turn a lustrous chocolate brown again. The father looked younger than the son._

_At first, his father could go years without needing to be "fed," as Maggie (now Margaret) called it. But then he needed it more and more—once a month. Carlisle couldn't stand it anymore._

_Now, in his eighties, he picked up a paper and read about a mysterious couple that had helped several people during a terrible pile-up on a highway running through Tennessee. One of them, the girl, had jumped into a puddle of toxic waste and didn't burn her feet. If his father knew about this girl…_

_He needed to act quickly. He needed to find the girl's companion, and help him to plot his father's downfall._

Claire opened her eyes. She was lying on the bed, the old man looking down at her. She got up, her head feeling incredibly clear.

"He knew," she said in slow wonder. "Gabriel knew the entire time, didn't he?" she asked.

Carlisle nodded. "We had it all planned out. I knew what my father and Margaret would do, and he knew what you would do. It was a well-designed symphony."

Through his eyes, Claire saw herself with Gabriel at the diner in Tennessee. She could hear her voice:

"…_He's a very good friend, that's all. Maybe one time something could have happened…but not now. My heart belongs to someone else."_

_And then Gabriel smirked and said, "Good. I'd hate to have to resort to my old ways because some guy didn't know his place."_

_She called him on it, and he relented and said he was just kidding. After they finished their meal, she excused herself to go to the restroom. _

_Carlisle was walking up behind Gabriel, but the latter already knew. "What do you want?" he had asked, not even bothering to turn his head._

"_Your love's life is in danger," Carlisle said, still not showing himself. "My father is a crafty man. But together, we can defeat him."_

_Gabriel turned his head towards the sound of his voice, but still did not look behind him. "Why should I believe you?"_

"_You have the right to be distrustful," Carlisle reasoned. "But can you really afford to ignore my warning?"_

Claire saw the look in Gabriel's eyes, watching them go from their customary hardened, unemotional gaze to one of love-induced fear. He couldn't afford to ignore this little old man. He'd just attained what he'd wanted all his life.

_He sighed. "Your heartbeat and breathing are steady and even, which indicates to me that you're probably not lying," he said. "I will try to meet you tonight, after she's fallen asleep."_

"_No need," Carlisle said. "I have a power of my own. I'll see you in your dreams." The old man disappeared just as Claire returned._

_And for the next several nights, Gabriel dreamed of Carlisle Daniels, meeting in one fantasy construct or another. They designed and plotted the entire night, and Gabriel was surprised to find when he awakened how well-rested he felt. Claire had started teasing him that nothing—not loud noises or movement—could wake him. This surprised him; he had never really been able to sleep soundly before…_

Claire blinked, then stared up the old man. "Why?" she asked in a soft voice. "Why didn't he tell me?"

Carlisle shrugged. "He was trying to protect you."

She stood up, boldly. "He's gone to face Malcolm, hasn't he? We need to go there." Without waiting an answer, she left the room.

GGGGGGGGGGGGGG

"How did you know?" Margaret cried out. Her immediate answer came in the form of a vase hurled at her head, that she missed narrowly. Malcolm flung her out of the way and dared to stand toe-to-toe with the reformed but still monstrously powerful Gabriel Gray.

"Your son told me," Gabriel told Malcolm.

The businessman's eyes widened. "Carlisle? He—he betrayed me?"

Gabriel shrugged, and with a point of a finger, sent Malcolm flying through the air to be pressed against the far wall, caught now in a vise-like telekinetic grip. He sputtered and kicked, knowing fully well it was futile but making the escape attempt nonetheless.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Gabriel asked in a low voice, walking slowly up to the struggling man. "Year after year, watching you swallow the life force from innocent young women, seeing you stay young and handsome while he's left to deal with the ravages of age." He now stood right in front of Malcolm, aiming his finger at his forehead as one aims a gun. "I'm surprised he hadn't done it earlier."

With that, Gabriel began his old technique of drawing a clean, even line across the cranium, hearing the familiar whine as if he were using a pneumatic drill.

"Margaret! Maaaarrrrrgreeeetttt!" he cried out, as the blood began to drip down his forehead and into his eyes.

Then came a terrible screeching, like the hounds of hell tearing into a new stained soul. Gabriel turned around to see the old woman running towards him, her peachy limbs turning into black spidery tendrils. Her feet now left the ground and she was flying at him like a voracious bird of prey.

Gabriel's mind promptly dropped Malcolm, heedless of the latter's healing factor kicking in and the flesh of his forehead now knitting itself back together. In a second she was upon him, a great web of destruction, wrapping him in her tendrils and draining the life from him. He fell back and screamed.

Malcolm laughed softly and got up, taking the opportunity to run for his life. Margaret would be fine; he was sure of it.

He made his way down to the basement to get to the garage, where the cars were parked. But as he opened the door to the garage, an unpleasant sight met his eyes. It was his son and his would-be meal, Claire Bennet.

She had her arms crossed in a undeservingly cocky manner. "Going somewhere?" she asked.

He smiled his flirtatious smile, which now only demonstrated his contempt for her. "As a matter of fact, dear, I am. And if you don't want to end up as food for the worms, you'd better stay out of my way." He began to make his way to his car, only to have her impede his path.

"Food for the worms? Now, now. You're the one who said you and I were alike. You must know, then, that I don't die very easily," she taunted.

He laughed accommodatingly at her taunt, then, without warning, punched her hard in the stomach. She doubled over and fell to the ground, groaning. Carlisle ran to her aid, only to get a swift left hook across the face from his father. He bent slightly, holding his jaw in his mouth and looking at his father with pure, unabashed hatred.

"You're such a disappointment, Carlisle," his father spat at him. "But what could I expect? You've always been jealous of me." He leaned down and pinched his son's withered cheek. "I should have allowed Margaret to suck the life out of you a long time ago. It would have been far kinder."

He straightened up and turned around, only to get the metal handle of a mop to his stomach, then his jaw. He fell back, groaning. He'd underestimated the little tart.

She stood over him now, holding the metal pole menacingly. "You might be indestructible like me, but that doesn't mean I can't incapacitate you." With that, she aimed the pole at his head, meaning to ram it into his skull so that he couldn't heal.

"You've got a bleak future ahead of you, my dear," he burst out. Curious, Claire stopped herself right before the tip of the mop hit his forehead.

Malcolm grinned wickedly and continued. "You know you can't die; don't you realize that that means you won't die? Ever? You'll age, of course, but you won't get the relief of death like those around you. Think of it. Watching your parents, your friends, your husband, your children all die around you." He indicated Carlisle, who was now standing behind Claire. "You think he was my only child? He's the only one I have left. You scorn me for the people I've killed, but it was the only way for me to continue a ruse that was the easiest to live with: to be a man too young to have experienced so much loss."

Slowly Claire brought the pole away from his head. She hadn't realized that her healing factor might make her immortal. And if that was so, that meant that everyone she loved would die and leave her, even Gabriel. She'd be alone—again. She was always alone.

Malcolm saw her let her guard down and he leapt to his feet, ready to take her on. He was stopped by several bullets going into his neck and chest. Claire cried out and huddled. It was Carlisle. He was holding a now-smoking pistol, looking down at his father's body.

He looked up at Claire. "Go help your love," he said. "Help him, and get out of here quickly. He'll be awake soon."

Claire looked at him with remorse. "But…" she began.

"Don't argue with me. Just go," he growled. Obediently, she made her way out of the garage.

When he was sure she was gone, he took the cordless phone sitting on the tool counter and dialed 9-1-1. When the dispatcher came on, he said, "I've just shot my grandson. Come and get us." He gave them the address, and, not waiting for the operator to say any more, hung up. With trembling hands he brought the gun to his chest and winced as he fired. He fell backwards onto the ground. His last action was to turn his head and look at his father, who now lay next to him, still dead. Then the life went out of his colorless eyes.

Claire heard the last shot, but just assumed Carlisle was putting the bullet into Malcolm to buy her more time. She got to the hallway to find Margaret wrapped around Gabriel, and him looking pale and weak. She was killing him.

She lunged at the older woman, trying to pry her tentacle-like arms from Gabriel's neck. When that didn't work, she punched her in the back of the head with all her might. Still no effect.

She was sure Gabriel had been trying to use his telekinesis to separate himself from her, but having no luck so far. But he was so powerful…surely there was some way.

Then it came to her. The image of her house burning down and exploding came to her mind.

"Gabriel! Nuclear!" she cried out, hoping he could hear her. "Go nuclear!"

He heard it. His eyes met hers and he smiled faintly. Then he concentrated all his energies, and soon, light began to radiate from his body. Claire shielded her eyes and stepped back, even though she knew she'd be fine.

The heat began to build, Gabriel's body blinding in its intensity. Margaret screamed and was thrown backwards by the radiation. She landed flat on her back, her black tentacles became arms again and she was knocked unconscious.

Gabriel turned to Claire. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She could find no words. She just nodded.

He looked around. "We need to get out of here." He was still fairly weak from Margaret's attack, so he put his arm around her shoulders and they began to walk away.

They were nearly to the door when Gabriel's ears picked up the sound of the barrel of a gun being cocked. Before he could react, Claire had gasped, stumbled, and fell to the ground. He looked behind him. Margaret was sitting up, pointing a now-smoking pistol.

Just then, the front door was broken and several police officers burst in, their guns aimed and trained. They instantly pounced on Margaret, who was still holding the gun, and one went to Claire, who was now lying face down.

Gabriel knew she'd be fine, she was just taken down. But the police would expect a wound like that to kill her, and they'd expect him to react as such. So as the dark-skinned officer walked to them, Gabriel knelt down next to her, shaking her. "Claire? Claire, come on. Honey, talk to me!" He gathered her in his arms and held her.

"I'm Detective Briggs, Tallahassee police department," the officer told Gabriel. "We need to find out what's happened." He pressed two fingers against Claire's neck and sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. She's dead."

Gabriel made his eyes widen and allowed a sob to escape his lips. "No! No, she's not dead. Come on, Claire!" He held her against him and cried, relieved that he had managed to squeeze real tears from his eyes. He was quite good at this; part of being an efficient killer had been simulating emotions.

They'd read Margaret her rights and slapped the cuffs on her, and now she walked calmly from the house. Before they were out of the building, she looked back and said, "Lieutenant Briggs?"

"Yes, Ms. Winstead?"

"Bring my purse, will you? I'm a wreck without my cigarettes."

The dark man groaned and motioned to one of his officers to comply with her wishes.

One of the officers carefully made his way to the garage, after searching the surrounding rooms. Cautiously he turned on the light and had his gun poised, only to find an old man dead on the floor, having apparently shot himself in the chest. There was blood coming from him, but there were also separate pools of blood a few feet away, and a trail leading out of the back door. Someone else had been there.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

"And that's it?" Lieutenant Briggs asks me.

I smile and take the cigarette away from my mouth. "That's it. I hope you found my story interesting."

He crosses his arms. "So Malcolm Everett is fatally shot, walks away, and leaves you paying for the crimes he asked you to do?"

I shrug. "Yes. He'll probably live another one hundred years, make another million or so."

"And you're willing to rot in prison for murder?"

I smile. "Like I said in the beginning Lieutenant: I did what I did for love. You know, people think it's easy to be in love, but it's not…

_Eluding the police was easy, of course. He made it to the morgue, and looked for her. He found the file marked, "Bennet, Claire." He rolled back the drawer, found her there lying on the slab_.

"People go out on dates, have sex, and they think they're in love. They're not. Few people are ever in love. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes to keep them alive, and most people are too selfish to do that. But I wasn't. I loved with every fiber of my being…

_Fortunately, they hadn't performed the autopsy on her. Gently he turned her over, and found that the gunshot wound had healed. But she still hadn't awakened. Then he had an idea. He put his mouth over hers, and blew into her lungs. He put one hand over her left side of her chest, and massaged. "Come on, Chief," he muttered. "It'll be easier for us to get out of here if I don't have to carry you." He massaged harder, and finally there was a chilling sound of a strangled cough, and she sprayed blood, eventually expelling the metal bullet. Finally, she breathed normally. She looked up at him, pain in her eyes_.

"Everyone wants to live a meaningful life. And I did. You'll get your confession, and you'll try to put me away, but I'll never plead 'guilty.' I feel no guilt. Malcolm is alive, and free. That's all I care about."

Just then, an officer came into the questioning room.

"What the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" Briggs snapped.

"You're not going to believe this, Lieutenant," the young man said. "The girl—Claire Bennet—the one who was shot—she's gone from the morgue! Forensics just called."

Briggs waved him away, then slowly turned to his prisoner. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" he asked quietly.

Margaret's smile was huge, looking unnatural in her aged face. "It was what I was waiting for," she beamed. "Now I can stop all this preaching. Love! Ha!"

She stood up, boldly. Briggs stood up as well, ready for combat. But he never got the chance, because it began to rain.

"Rain" wasn't quite the word. It began to melt, actually. The walls, the table, the chairs. Briggs, in panic, looked out the window, and realized that the walls outside were melting as well. He looked back at Margaret and saw that she was melting too, and the last thing to go was her audacious smile.

Several blocks away, the yellow Victorian mansion named Juneberry was melting too. The structure, right down to its molecules, was being stripped away. So too was Malcolm Everett's mansion. The mahogany furniture, the marble floors, the velvet drapes—all melting into non-existence.

Carlisle Daniels' body melted away as well. He was no longer alive, and now, it was as if he never had been…

And then Briggs was at his desk, finishing some paperwork. It had been an uneventful week this week, and so he'd taken the opportunity to complete some things he'd left unfinished. His wife had called just a few minutes ago, and he'd promised to be home soon. He had the next day and a half off, and he was going to spend the time with her.

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

She hadn't said two words since they left Florida. She'd offered no input about where they should go, what they should do. He might as well have been traveling with a deaf-mute for all the communication they'd had.

They stopped at a farmer's market in South Carolina, and he went in and bought sandwiches, fruit and cookies for the two of them. She sat in the car, showing no interest in going in at all. He came back to the car, opened the passenger door, and thrust the bag at her. "Here," he said. "You might as well do something with her your mouth, since you're not using it for talking." Mechanically she took the bag from him, opened it, and began to eat.

Rolling his eyes at her attitude, he went around the car and got into the driver's side, slamming the door. He practically tore open the bag and ripped open the packaging to the sandwich, eating with vigor due to his anger rather than hunger.

She remained silent. Finally, Gabriel couldn't stand it anymore. He turned to her and snapped, "What's wrong with you? You're acting like a child."

Calmly Claire swallowed a bite of her sandwich and took her time turning to look at him. "Maybe that's because you treat me like one," she told him.

He glared at her in a mix of puzzlement and anger. "What are you talking about?"

Claire let out a deep breath and put down her food. "The whole time, even before we got to Florida, you were plotting with Carlisle Daniels. You knew about Malcolm Everett, you even knew about Margaret Winstead. You knew what they were planning. And you didn't tell me any of it. We're supposed to be partners," then, shooting him a cold look, added, "_Sylar_."

He looked her, shocked. "Why did you call me that?"

"Because you haven't really changed. You decided to change your name to Gabriel, telling me that you want to reform, and that you love me. But you have no respect for me or our partnership. In my eyes, you're still Sylar."

Gabriel groaned and sat back in the seat. "Claire, I didn't tell you what was happening because I was trying to protect you. Listen: in spite of your ability, you're still vulnerable. I just…didn't want you to do anything foolish. I kept you in the dark so I could have a level of…control." He internally winced when he said that. He knew that "control" would definitely sound negative, but he couldn't find a better word to use.

Claire barked out a bitter laugh. "Control? What do you I look like—one of those watches you used to fix? I have the right to make my own choices."

"Claire…I did what I did because I love you. Why can't you see that?"

She shuddered and looked out the window. "The first man I ever loved said the same thing to me," she said softly.

Gabriel stared at her, perplexed. There had been another man besides him? That caught him off guard.

When he didn't answer right away, Claire continued. "My father worked for the Company; you know that. He kept my mother in the dark for the very same reason: he wanted to "protect" her. Well, all his "protecting" eventually gave her a neurological disorder because he kept getting Caleb to wipe her memories. Instead of treating her like an equal and allowing her to make choices for herself, he made them for her, and it nearly cost her her life. He tried to do that to me as well; he was going to make me forget who I was." She now turned to look at him. "I promised myself I'd never let that happen to me again. That I would decide my own fate. But look what's happened. The second man I loved has done the very same thing to me."

Gabriel was silent for a long time. Then, he said, "I'm trying, you know. Caring for someone else…it's new to me. Before you, it was like doing mathematical equations. I knew the formulas, I did the calculations. I was always correct. But now…I make mistakes. It's unnerving to me, that feeling like I don't have control. Can you understand that?"

Claire took his hand in hers. "Yes, I do, but you need to have faith in me."

Gabriel nodded. "I do—I will." He let go of her hand and stared out of the window. "I still have a long way to go," he admitted.

Claire smiled. "That's why we've got a car. Oh," she said, suddenly remembering something.

"What's wrong?"

She scowled. "That soul-sucking bitch Margaret never paid me for my performance."

Gabriel smirked. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out several hundred dollar bills. "Here. Spending money."

She took it from him and stared at him, anxious. "Where did you get this?"

He shrugged. "I had some shares of stock that I liquidated. It should keep us going for a while."

She smiled. "Someday, you and I will have honest jobs."

"We do have honest jobs, Chief," Gabriel said, starting the car and putting it into gear. "We're going to save the world. You don't get much more honest than that."

Claire frowned in reply. "You know those 'not for profit' jobs never pay well."

"Then we'll have to get day jobs," Gabriel told her, now pulling back onto the road. "I fix watches, and you sing."

"Yeah!" Claire exclaimed with an exuberance that Gabriel wasn't prepared for. "You could set up a shop, and I could stand outside and sing advertisements for it! 'Rock around the Clock Tonight'; 'As Time Goes By'; 'Time after Time'…"

"Ok, I get it."

" 'Time in a Bottle'; '3 am'; 'I'll be _Watch_-ing You'…"

"Enough!" Gabriel laughed. "I get it! Name one more song, and I'll leave you on the side of the road."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

As the mustang drove away from the Farmer's Market, a slim older man stood by the apple stand and smiled. A faint gust of wind blew through his red hair. He turned to see Margaret Winstead walking up to him, and once she drew near, he took her hand and kissed it.

"You did wonderfully, my dear," he told her.

She frowned. " 'Wonderfully'? We accomplished nothing! Gray and Bennet got away."

He shook his head. "It was never our goal to capture them; merely to test the extent of our combined powers. I'm still very weak, unfortunately, but now I know I can hold my creations for days, not just minutes. And, those two now have lasting memories of what happened. For all they know, it was real."

Margaret sighed. "Yes. Yes, I know you're right. I just…hate waiting."

He put his arm around his servant. "I know, dear. But the best things in life are worth waiting for. Believe me, I know. Revenge is a meal that takes great preparation." He now looked her up and down closely. "Are you going to stay in this form? It has its appeal, to be sure, but I rather like your dark hair and dimples."

She smiled, and morphed back into Candice. "Whatever makes you happy," she cooed.

He smiled back, and arm and arm, they walked away, as the Farmer's Market lost shape and melted from existence.


End file.
